


Appearances

by keyrousse



Series: Wieśkowe historie/The Witcher stories [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Badass Family, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Don’t copy to another site, Editing in Progress, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Work In Progress, a very mild Geralt/Regis, criminal mastermind, hunting monsters, shameless references to games and books
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-14 15:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17511380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyrousse/pseuds/keyrousse
Summary: A young man is killed on the streets of modern-times Vizima. Police investigation, lead by Geralt Haute, a witcher turned Homicide Detective, reveals that the case is connected to a lot more complicated intrigue.





	1. Father

“Mrs Venger, how long had you been married to Mr Haute?”

“Fifteen years. We divorced two years ago.”

“What was the reason of the divorce?”

“Incorrigible differences.”

“Noticed after fifteen years?”

“After one year, if not sooner.”

Geralt smirked. This was classic Yen, dry and so honest it hurt.

“What was keeping you together?”

“That marriage was born out of great passion and died because of great... disagreements. We're both stubborn and don't know when to step back. It was Ciri who convinced us to divorce.”

“You had been living with Cirilla for four years. What can you say about her relationship with Mr Haute?”

“Geralt always treats her like his own daughter. He's closer to her than I, which I admit with regret. But Ciri’s relationship with Geralt is probably one of the reasons she grew up to be a great human being, despite what she went through in her childhood. Geralt have never loved someone as much as he loves this girl.”

“You can't say that Mr Emreis doesn't love his daughter.”

“I admit that Mr Emreis has vast opportunities and a wish to make Ciri's life comfortable. Geralt isn't so rich. His love for Ciri is based on an infinite respect, not money; I'm sure she is aware of and appreciates it. She also needs guidance, unambiguous boundaries.”

“Do you think Mr Emreis is unable to control his daughter?”

“I think that Mr Emreis would let her do what she wanted to and set acute boundaries only when she would cross a line, instead of showing her where that line was. Guidance requires time. Anyone could ground her because she went to a party instead of school. She's sixteen, it's her right to misbehave. Geralt knows how to influence her in a way that, even though Ciri makes mistakes, she's able to see them, so limits set by Geralt are not met with anger and a desire to run away. Geralt is an authority for her. Mr Emreis is just trying to buy her, in my opinion.”

Geralt felt Ciri's gaze on him from one side, and Attorney Metz's from the other. He was looking at the table and playing with a pen. He knew that Yen wasn't looking at him, but at Emreis' attorney.

“How do you think Mr Haute sees Cirilla's future?”

“Geralt is not the kind of a father who would decide about his child's future. He's more likely to show her the possibilities and support Ciri in her own decision.”

 

* * *

 

_ “What if they take me away?” _

_ He sighed. He kept stroking her long, curly hair. She was a warm weight on his chest. _

_ “You're lucky to be old enough to be asked about your opinion,” he replied. “Nobody is going to take you away by force.” _

_ “So what all of this is for?” _

_ “Mostly so you can be a Haute, not an Emreis.” _

_ “Emhyr won't let it go easily. Objectively, he has bigger chances to win.” _

_ “Mhm, he does when it comes to living conditions and educational possibilities. I'll remain a naïve sucker though and count on six or even sixteen years of experience and honest intentions being more important than a bottomless wallet.” _

 

* * *

 

“I have a question for Mr Emreis.”

“Then ask.”

“Where have you been for the last sixteen years?”

Silence.

“Sure, Geralt doesn't have a mansion, but a two-room flat in a slightly shady neighbourhood. He's not friends with politicians and he can't afford the best private schools for me. But he's been with me since he'd met my then-pregnant, single mother. Sure, he works at weird hours, but he's always available when I need him. I'm not a little girl whom you have to read fairytales to at night, but I know I can always talk to him about important things and he will listen. And Mr Emreis had disappeared from my life before I was even born. He came back when a miraculous reunion with his long lost daughter would be beneficial for his campaign. I spent a month at your place, as you'd asked, and Geralt had convinced me I should go. A month is a quite a long time. I really wanted to know you better. But I only met your precious, intimidated wife, who loves you with all her heart. And you? Do you know me at all? Simple question. What kind of sweets I like the most?"

Silence.

“Cotton candy,” whispered Geralt.

“And I hate prunes in chocolate. Congrats, you just learned something about me.”

Emreis shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

 

* * *

 

“So, let's ruin your life and instead to school, go...” Geralt started, putting an arm over his daughter's shoulders. They marched through the court's corridors towards the exit.

“Amusement park,” Ciri finished.

“To get cotton candy,” added Yen, approaching them. She had left just before the verdict, but she must have been waiting for them.

“Yen,” Geralt greeted her calmly with a nod.

“Congratulations,” said Yen and smiled softly, immediately warming her image of a sharp businesswoman. Dressed as usual in black and white, a long skirt and tight jacket, she could intimidate. A smile always fitted her delicately made-up face, though.

The last two years of their marriage had been a nightmare, but Geralt never wondered why he had married her. He knew why. And she knew it too.

“Thanks. Probably it wasn't what Emreis expected when he called you as a witness,” Geralt replied, keeping his arm over Ciri's shoulders. The girl was leaning against him, watching him and Yen.

“Two years ago I would queer you the pitch, but now... Besides, I was simply honest,” Yen replied and shrugged.

“Come on, are we getting that candy?” Ciri asked impatiently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to send kudos and comment, but be gentle with me. I'm slightly self-conscious about this one. "Slightly" as in "I'm terrified". ;)


	2. Partner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A body is found. Witchers are discussed. Lunches are eaten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's basically an exposition chapter. Still no beta, but I like this part, so I had to share it, too.  
> This time I really don't know when I'll update again ;)

When Triss arrived at the crime scene, the technicians were already busy. She quickly found the white head of her partner.

He crouched by something lying on the ground and was inspecting it closely for a while, then stood up and started to look around the crime scene, lit by portable halogens. At six in the morning it was still dark and cold.

She stood at the edge of the circle of light, clutching her coffee mug in a frozen hand. The beverage wasn’t enough to warm her fingers and she regretted not wearing mittens, again.

Geralt wasn’t cold. As usual, even though he dressed for the weather, he never showed that the temperature outside was uncomfortable for him. He kept his hands in his jacket pockets, but that was typical for him even in a summer.

Triss was watching him for a while.

He didn’t change his looks, he’s been looking the same for the last few years. His shoulder-length hair were pulled back in a ponytail, hair on the sides and the back of his head were shorn close to the skin. If he looked only slightly older and wasn’t so fit, this hairstyle would be pathetic, but on his head it looked good.

He wore dark blue jeans, grey sweater, black shirt with long sleeves, warm boots and fur-lined, leather jacket. Simple, practical and easy to replace clothing, somehow emphasizing his flat stomach, wide shoulders and long, slim legs, so that he looked even taller than he was.

She liked looking at him.

He approached her. Some flushed, humanoid, about twenty-year old creature with a notebook in hand toddled behind him.

“Why do you never bring me coffee?” he asked and smiled with one side of his mouth.

She liked listening to his voice, too. It was low and slightly hoarse. For most people it was unpleasant, for her it caused chills running down her spine.

His ears were red from the cold. It was the only point of color on his deadly pale face, other than grey eyebrows and lashes, only slightly darker than his hair. Even his eyes were unnaturally pale: amber, but so bright they were taken for yellow.

“Because, a, I don’t plan to spend my hard-earned money on you; b, I don’t have to suck up to you, and c, you don’t drink coffee, but your herbal gross-outs that make me nauseous whenever I even think about them,” she counted out with a sweet smile and took a sip of her coffee.

She knew the question was for the benefit of that flushed creature. It was vaguely shaped like a male student, dressed in a thick winter coat, it had huge, brown eyes and a nose red from the cold.

Geralt smiled a little wider.

“Can you take the youngster back to the office?” he asked pointing at the student with a thumb. “I don’t have anything to do here anymore.”

Triss glanced at the technicians.

“Our colleagues look busy,” she noticed.

“They won’t find anything,” Geralt replied with a shrug.

“Okay. See you at the office.”

He nodded and went towards the opening of the alley. The student glanced at her, uncertain.

“You can go after him, if you really want to get to the office with him, but he rides a motorbike,” she warned and finished her coffee.

The student nodded and went with her. Only when he got closer to her she realized why he hadn’t said a word so far: his teeth chattered so badly he wasn’t able to utter anything.

They approached Triss’ car: a small, blue compact. This kind of a car was sometimes called a shopping trolley, because it was perfect for parking in a packed lot by a mall. Small with a dynamic engine, it managed very well on city streets, but it was very rarely bought by men.

The student hesitated at the sight.

“That or you’ll go on foot,” Triss threatened. Damn men and their egos too big for her little four wheels.

Geralt, she had to admit, never laughed at her car. He even got inside and allowed himself to be seen going out of it without shame.

The student nodded eagerly and sat in the passenger seat. Triss took pity of him and set the AC on HOT. The kid started to thaw before they even joined the traffic.

“Sorry about earlier. That AC is efficient,” he admitted after a while. His teeth weren’t chattering so bad anymore.

“You bet. Do not underestimate little cars,” she suggested sternly, but then asked, a lot milder: “You’re Leo, right?”

“Yeah,” he admitted.

“Triss Merigold, nice to meet you. You’ve been assigned to Geralt?”

“Yeah,” the kid nodded. “I know you’re his partner… Can you prepare me for working with him?”

“I doubt you will work WITH him, but if you don’t make his life hard and don’t screw up anything major, it’ll be a good learning experience for you,” she said with a shrug, focused on the road. The crime scene was in Outskirts, they had to drive along the city walls to the gate nearest to the station. It was a ten minute drive.

The kid hesitated.

“Is it true he’s a witcher?” he asked.

“Yes,” Triss replied. It wasn’t really a secret. They didn’t advertise that witchers worked in Vizima Police, but they didn’t deny it if someone asked.

Times when witchers had been considered monsters passed years ago, with the King’s edict making them full citizens, protected as a minority - allowed to work full time in other professions, under conditions identical to those applied to humans and other regular workers. Any sign of discrimination was considered racist and therefore punished. Witcher schools were destroyed fifty years earlier, monsters were still out there threatening cities, villages and travelers, so the King of Temeria decided to protect the remaining monster hunters.

It was a good decision and the rulers of the most neighboring countries quickly adapted the idea for their own laws. It took some time for the simple folk to get used to it, but the lives of Geralt and his “brothers” became much easier. Witchers kept their profession, but were able to put their fighting and tracking skills to a good use elsewhere, equal to other workers. Some became policemen, like Geralt, others ignored their neutrality and went to an army; both groups quickly rose through the ranks, gaining respect among peers and employers. Others became hunters for game. Some - especially from the Cat School - were mercenaries, but they were prone to do that even before the edict.

Only Redania gave witchers much less freedom than other countries. They were legal there, too, but not protected as a minority. The rest of the Northern Realms at least tried to adapt to modern times.

Leo’s accent sounded Redanian. Triss didn’t know what to think about his question.

Triss glanced at him.

“Why are you asking?” she asked.

“I just wanted to know. I don’t know whether to feel good or bad that Vizima needs witchers full time.”

“Well, if a monster attacks you and you’re with Geralt, you’ll certainly have a bigger chance of survival than when you’re alone,” she replied. “But thanks to him living here, there’s a really low risk of anything like that happening.”

“I have nothing against witchers if that worries you,” Leo assured her, reading her tone correctly. “They are fascinating, actually. Geralt is known as one of the best detectives in Vizima and around it, so I’m really happy I’ve been assigned to him.”

“He’s less happy about it, but he shouldn’t give you a hard time,” she assured him. “He knows the assignment is not your fault and he’s probably in a good mood anyway.”

“Any particular reason?”

“He won an important court case recently. Personal matters. Knowing the rest of the squad, you’ll probably know everything about it within half an hour.”

They arrived at the station: it was an old, but well maintained four-story building in an alley with St. Lebioda’s Hospital at one end and a gate to Trade Quarter on the other. Small square between the station and the gate was used as a parking lot for personal cars and motorbikes of the police officers.

Triss parked her little car in a free spot. There were more bikes than cars: the old part of Vizima wasn’t adapted for car traffic, so within the city walls motorbikes were the preferred way of transport. The historical gates were widened, but adapting most of the streets would require tearing down half of the buildings, so everyone living in Trade, Temple Quarters and Old part of Vizima accepted that the main way of going from point A to B was on foot or by motorbike, or bicykle.

The main station of Vizima Police was a boring, concrete, bricks and glass type of a building. It housed homicide, narcotics and prevention departments. In the basement there was a small shooting and training range, detention and pathologists’ office. The whole building wasn’t very intimidating, it didn’t scream POLICE!!! at every pedestrian.

Triss and Leo walked through the parking lot towards the entrance. Leo noticed a shiny, albeit somewhat beaten motorbike parked near the door.

“Oooh, Koviri work! Is it Geralt’s?” he asked with excitement.

“Yes. I think he’s proud of it, but he calls it Roach, I don’t know why,” Triss said and entered the building.

Leo smiled. Bikes from Kovir were known for their reliability: they broke down very rarely and were easy to repair if they did. A vehicle like this seemed fitting for a practical man who’d spent most of his adult life on the road. The edict that allowed witchers to settle down and have a stable job was heralded twenty years ago, yet this habit - having a relatively cheap way of transportation - seemed hard to break, especially in a such car-unfriendly city like Vizima.

He went after Triss and climbed to the second floor, the base of the Homicide Dept of VP.

At nearly seven AM it was busy already, but Leo noted that most of the officers resembled zombies. The aroma of coffee was thick, footsteps were slow and conversations quiet. The room was warm though and the student started to feel his fingers normally again.

He noticed Geralt sitting at his desk in the far corner of the room, away from the windows. The desk opposite him was empty - it belonged to Triss. Behind Geralt’s back another detective was busy reading at his desk: the man had sturdy posture and a mop of black hair, partially covering his face. They were talking quietly, the most awake of all the people on the floor.

Geralt noticed Leo and Triss, and greeted them with a raised hand. He showed Leo a chair standing by the short side of his desk and a pile of files in front of it.

Triss removed her coat, hung it over the back of her chair and sat at her desk. She turned on her computer.

“I hoped I’d lose you to the frost,” Geralt said to Leo as the student was sitting down. “Not everyone is brave enough to take a ride in Triss’ steel charger.”

Triss narrowed her eyes at him.

“Very funny,” she drawled. The man sitting behind Geralt turned to them and smirked. “Since when you have something against my steel charger?” she asked.

“I don’t,” Geralt replied. “Just some people’s egos are too big for it.”

“Yours?” Triss asked with a sweet smile and dangerous notes in her voice.

“Never,” he assured her with a somewhat crooked smile.

“I guess a motorbike is never too small for a man’s ego,” Leo muttered, seemingly focused on the files before him. Geralt narrowed his eyes at him. “Unless it’s a minibike. I mean, there’s only air around, so…” the student continued and then realized his mistake; he paled and glanced cautiously at Geralt.

The man behind Geralt snorted. Geralt used his elbow on the man to let him know what he’d thought about it.

An older man with grey hair and a moustache left a small office through the door close to the three desks.

“Boss, why exactly did I end up with a student? A smartass one, too,” Geralt called after the man.

“Llewellyn case,” the man shot over his shoulder, not stopping. The man behind Geralt snorted again; his shoulders shook in a silent laughter.

“Damn it,” Geralt muttered. “Okay, smartass, your reading for today,” he said to Leo, pointing at the pile of files. “Read what you can and tell me what you think by the end of the shift.”

Leo opened his mouth to protest, but the man behind Geralt cut in:

“Don’t push your luck, kid.”

Leo glanced at the man. The detective was looking at him with dark, serious, friendly eyes, with one eyebrow raised like in a challenge.

Leo deflated and reached for the topmost file.

“Eskel Garde, nice to meet you,” the man said, offering his hand.

“Leo Emlyn,” replied the student and shook his hand. Eskel’s fingers were calloused, obviously used to a gun; his grip was sure and strong.

Leo liked him instantly.

They were busy reading for an hour. Geralt kept refreshing the page he had opened on his computer screen; suddenly he stood up impatiently and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.

“Need to speed things up. Kid, going with me?” he asked.

Leo perked up.

“Sure, where are we going?”

“First coffee shop, then morgue.”

Leo winced at the latter.

“Okay,” he agreed reluctantly and went after Geralt.

He managed to notice the look Triss gave his partner. Or rather his back. Or rather the part his back lost its graceful name.

Leo glanced at Geralt, his tight shirt and tight, dark jeans, and wondered if the man did this on purpose.

 

* * *

 

Geralt and Leo descended the stairs to the morgue, the detective holding a cup of “Rusty’s favourite” from the nearby coffee shop.

The stench of formalin hit their nostrils. They entered the main room, looking like a classic morgue from TV, albeit small: only one table in the middle of the room, a glass door to an adjacent office across from the entrance, a line of four steel doors of the body fridge on one wall.

The table with a body on it was tall, but surrounded by a platform at a half of its height, accessible via stepladder. Leo, surprised by this, also noticed that the handle of the glass door was set pretty low.

When they entered, a halfling dressed in a medical coat left the office. He stopped and clasped his hands at the sight of them.

“Geralt Haute, welcome to my humble abode. What can I do for you?” he asked.

“You know what and I brought something for you,” Geralt replied, raising the hand with the mug in it.

“By gods, did you really defile your tea hands with coffee, especially for me?” the halfling pretended to be impressed. He stepped to the table and climbed the stepladder.

“Give me what I want and you’ll get it,” Geralt replied, approaching the table. Leo decided to stay by the door. In the academy he absolutely hated lectures in a morgue. He also knew it was a test, but he decided to fail this time. Geralt would have to put up with him for a month: surely there would be more than one occasion to get down here again in that time.

“In that case, we have a problem,” the halfling started, spreading his arms in a pretended powerlessness. “If I don’t get the coffee, I won’t be able to give you anything. And you’re saying that if I don’t give you anything, I won’t get the coffee. We’re at an impasse, don’t you think?”

Geralt sighed and gave him the mug. The halfling took a sip and sighed contentedly.

“Did you at least take a look at him?” Geralt asked, pointing at the body.

At a first glance it looked like a young, homeless man, thin and dirty; his lifeless eyes were still open. He laid naked on the table, covered by a thin sheet.

“I did. Everything I see screams overdose,” declared the halfling.

“I’d agree, but…” Geralt started, prompting a continuation.

“But he’s far too pale for this,” the halfling added. “Asphyxiation seems likely, given the blue hue of his extremities. Doesn’t rule out overdose.”

“Unless you have the bloodwork ready, don’t talk about the goddamn overdose,” Geralt barked suddenly.

The halfling looked at him with a raised eyebrow, surprised by the outburst.

“Rusty, come on, look at him,” Geralt said, pointing at the body with frustration. “Sure, he was homeless, but not for long. Forget about his homelessness, look at him from a distance and tell me what you think. Does he really look like a junkie?”

“No,” Rusty replied after a moment of looking at the body.

“Then find out the cause of death.”

“You’ll have it as soon as possible,” Rusty promised, raising the mug of coffee.

Geralt nodded and went towards the door.

“I hope so, it has an additional dose of espresso,” he said over his shoulder and pulled Leo with him.

 

* * *

 

“There you go, lady,” the waitress laid a plate with Yennefer’s lunch on the table. Yen lowered a corner of her newspaper and nodded to her over the rim. She folded the newspaper and only then she noticed that she was no longer sitting here alone.

“Damn, I was hoping for a quiet lunch,” she sighed. She put the newspaper on the chair next to her, moved her smartphone away from the edge of the table and grabbed the knife and fork.

“I have to say I’m disappointed,” Emhyr Emreis declared, watching her eat from the seat opposite her. He leaned back in the chair, with one elbow propped on the armrest, relaxed.

She cut a small piece of the pork neck and put it in her mouth delicately, making sure the grease wouldn’t end up on her face. Her every move was calculated.

“Why is that?” Yen asked after swallowing. She gathered some of the sweet potato puree and peas on the fork and put it in her mouth.

Emhyr noticed that her lipstick was still pristine and he thought that Yen was one of the very few people who looked good while eating.

She always looked good anyway, stylishly dressed, her raven-black hair in a very controlled, deliberate mess; soft make-up, controlled movements, always calm.

So unlike Geralt Haute, who sometimes resembled a wild animal.

“I counted on your support in the court,” he admitted.

“Why would I?” she asked curiously.

“On the account of our business together…” he started; Yen waved the fork disapprovingly.

“No, you see, I don’t mix work and private life,” she interrupted.

“What can I bring you, sir?” the waitress asked Emhyr; she appeared out of nowhere.

Emreis startled a little, but composed himself within a second.

“Coffee, black, no sugar,” he ordered. The waitress left.

Yen sighed heavily.

“Sour like your face before the verdict,” she said with pretended sadness, then she grew serious. “As I said, if you thought that I would lie before the court for your benefit just because of our contract, no matter how potentially profitable, it’s only your own fault you’re disappointed. You really are trying to buy everyone. I may have divorced Geralt, but I still consider him a better option for Ciri than you. Even more so, now.”

She cut another piece of the pork and put in in her mouth. Her previously calculated gestures gained a pinch of aggression, but she still managed to eat like a lady. It was infuriating.

“It must be a sore spot for you,” Yen continued after a while. “You're rich, the biological father, a human. You had to win. And yet you so easily lost to Geralt.”

“Human?” Emhyr repeated with a frown.

Yen paused and regarded him calmly.

“The fact that you don't know that means you underestimated him. You came absolutely unprepared, so your failure is entirely your own fault. I don't say that you'd win if you knew, but then maybe it wouldn't be so embarrassing in my eyes,” she said, shrugged and impaled a pea on the fork.

“Knew what?”

Yen only smiled sweetly at him and continued to eat.

“I can make you all regret it,” Emhyr warned.

“And how?” she asked curiously. She didn’t seem worried. She was looking at him with huge, almost innocent eyes. Emhyr would swear that their deep blue color was mixed with purple.

“Your business is an easy target. And I’m sure Geralt has something to hide,” Emhyr said with a dismissive gesture. “You practically admitted it. Even if he doesn’t, it’s only a matter of convincing the court he’s not fit to raise a child. It shouldn’t be too hard with my influence.”

Yen put her fork and knife on the still half-full plate and leaned back in the chair, with elbows on the armrests. She was regarding him with a cold face, completely emotionless.

“Make no mistake, Mr Emreis,” she started. For Emhyr it was like the temperature in the restaurant dropped at least ten degrees. “Ciri’s well-being largely depends on Geralt’s. So if you’re threatening Geralt, you’re threatening her, and it’s unforgivable. Especially considering your very fragile position.”

She grabbed her smartphone from the table. Soon Emhyr heard his own voice saying “I have to say I’m disappointed”.

He paled. Damn, she was good. And he was incredibly stupid. Last thing he expected from her was loyalty toward her ex fucking husband. She definitely knew how to play this game.

“Trying to win the case for the sake of winning, against Ciri’s wishes, will only grant you her hatred and me lowering my standards of action to your level,” Yen drawled out. “It will be painful for everyone. Geralt can defend himself, but going against Ciri is a recipe for a bloodshed, metaphorical or not.”

Yen leaned forward, put her elbows on the table, the phone still clutched in her hand.

“You will not appeal. You will leave Ciri, Geralt and me alone,” she ordered, looking into his eyes. “You can even take the money for your contract. Gods, I knew the whole thing was a waste of time and paperwork,” she added, exasperated, wiped her mouth with a napkin and threw it on the table. “Lost my appetite, thank you very much. And it was a delicious pork,” she said with audible regret, threw some money on the table and left the restaurant.

Emhyr remained at the table until his coffee arrived; he took his time drinking it and thinking over the conversation he’d just had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think? If I made some horrid spelling or grammar mistakes, you can find me on Tumblr and yell at me (keyrousse) ;)


End file.
